


The Shooting Season

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Humor, M/M, Modern Royalty, POV Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Romance, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: King Uther has a cunning plan to put a stop to his son and Merlin's relationship. It involves pheasants or partridges or grouse...





	The Shooting Season

Uther said it nonchalantly, as if he hadn't pondered the question at all, as if the idea had just darted into his brain and he had blathered it out without any due consideration. “Why don't you invite your friend Merlin over to Sandringham for the October shoot?” 

Arthur, who had been sitting at the gilded baroque table he hated so much, looked up from perusing his phone. He seemed as stunned as those meme cats he liked to share with his friends on those phone applications things youths nowadays liked so much. And he might as well look befuddled. Uther freely admitted he had never been open-minded when it came to Arthur's friend – he refused to call him boyfriend -- Merlin Emrys, Welshman, bio-medicine student, and Arthur's current flatmate to boot. In truth, he had staunchly refused to admit him to Buckingham Palace, Sandringham, Balmoral, or any other residence he had to his name as King of the United Kingdom and other Realms and Territories.

“Are you sure we mean the same Merlin and not the bird species or the Disney cartoon?” Arthur asked.

“I grant you the name doesn't induce one to think of a human being,” Uther said without any need to lie; Merlin's mother must have been a gadabout hippy to name her son that way, “but the only birds invited to those shoots are the pheasants and we kill those.”

“I was under the impression you wanted to kill Merlin too actually.” Arthur studied him closely, as if waiting for the penny to drop. 

Uther couldn't act as though that wasn't true. He'd be contradicting himself and giving his game away, for ever since Arthur had first mentioned Merlin, some three years ago when he'd met him during a lecture, Uther hadn't been partial to the idea of him. Firstly, because Merlin was a commoner who didn't even belong to the bourgeoisie, let alone have a title. And secondly because Merlin – Uther had had this looked into – was a dreaded socialist, even more so than any member of the current conformation of the Labour Party Uther had ever had the displeasure to get acquainted with. More, Merlin was a socialist who owned a copy of the Communist Manifesto, annotated and underlined by himself, (MI5 would stoop to anything, even inspecting a Durham University scholarship student's flat) and had often expressed ideas critical of the monarchy and its past colonial role. There was even a ten page essay on that very subject in his student record. So, Arthur's disbelief wasn't ungrounded.

But all Uther had to do now was sow doubt in Arthur's mind. After all, Arthur was an optimist at heart and he wanted nothing better than for Uther to accept his current flame – with whom he'd been unfortunately stepping out steadily for the past two years. Arthur needed to hope his so-called love story would work out. With that in mind hoodwinking his son would be easy. Ultimately nobody knew him better than Uther. “I suppose time has come for me to acknowledge that Merlin has a role to play in your life.”

Arthur dropped his beloved phone. “Say that again?”

Uther saw he would have to step once more unto the breach. Through the years Uther had made his dislike of The Peasant rather evident. He'd had more than one shouting match with his son over the matter of the blasted Welshman, and at least one fit that had closely resembled apoplexy. To make his acceptance believable, he'd have to embroider a bit, act out the role of repentant father to the best of his abilities. As a young man, Uther had seen Olivier perform once, some sort of very important theatre premiere; he could do it. He waved his hand about. “Merlin has been rather loyal to you.” As much as Uther had tried to find proof of the lad's untrustworthiness, he hadn't been able to. And if the best spies in the kingdom couldn't pin any unfaithfulness down on him in either word or deed, then Merlin's track record was, alas, to use today's jargon, squeaky clean. “I believe such behaviour should be rewarded.”

Arthur's eyebrow climbed towards his hairline in a terribly undignified way, thus showing an utterly unroyal countenance. Not for him was the unflappability of the 'Keep Calm and Carry On' motto, which any monarch worth his salt would do well to appropriate. An imperturbable, level-headed sovereign could head off any and all disasters. Uther would have to teach him better in preparation for his future role. 

“You once called Merlin a backwater bumpkin, a rustic who likely enjoyed boinking sheep!”

“I believe I never stooped to that wording.” Uther had most assuredly said, 'a rustic who enjoyed coitus with the ovine species. “And that's neither here nor there.” Uther had to provide Arthur with some sort of reasonable motivation for his change of tune and not let himself be mislead by idle talk. “The press has got hold of your frequentation of Merlin.”

“You mean to say they know we're living together?”

Choosing not to think of the proximity of his son to that member of the plebes, Uther grunted. 

“You said that if I acknowledged Merlin publicly,” Arthur continued, ignoring Uther's animal noise, “I would be practically be calling him my fiancé.” Arthur swallowed, breathed, and, on an expulsion of air, went on, “You said you'd rather follow in the steps of Charles I and Louis XVI than to allow Merlin to become my prince consort.”

Uther had indeed uttered those words, Arthur remembered well. But Uther had pondered the problem and thought his line of action in that instance had been wanting finesse. Arthur was as stubborn as Uther was. There would be no bending him with threats. Oh no, the more Uther browbeat him, the more Arthur would become entrenched in his position. Uther needed a much more subtle plan. A cunning plan. “The rags may gossip,” Uther made a point of snapping his copy of The Sun shut. They might venerate the monarchical institution, and talk of Continental Europe as a corrupt Gomorrh governed by unelected officials in a way that pleased Empire-loving Uther, but their prose and attitude was still of the basest. Uther recognised sycophancy when he saw it. “But it won't hurt us in the long run.”

“It won't?” Arthur's eyes had taken the form of roundels.

No, indeed it wouldn't. Uther had carefully considered this. The Emrys person was a known vegan, participating in animal rights marches and protesting against laboratories wherein they tested on creatures he saw as poor innocent animals. If Merlin took up a rifle to shoot pheasant or grouse, he'd prove he was nothing but social climber, a gold-digger, a man who'd stoop to anything in order to marry rich. The scales would then fall off Arthur's eyes and his love of Merlin would be quenched. If Merlin instead stood by his principles and refused to comply as Uther's other guests did, then he'd prove that he was no prince consort material. By so acting, he would be spitting on centuries of tradition, on upper-class hobbies, denouncing times during which no one would object to noble bloodsports that kept the mind keen and the body fit. The whole aristocratic establishment would consequently disapprove of him as a candidate for Arthur's hand -- and Arthur wouldn't be able to reign without the support of England's peers.

Because he saw his duties as heir to the throne as sacred, Arthur would never abdicate. Put between a rock and a hard place, he would make the tough choice and renounce Merlin.

Uther had indeed studied the scenario well. He had made provisions for variations too. He had basked in it. But he couldn't let that on. He would only intervene once Merlin had made his choice and proved himself unsuitable. Uther would then provide a welcome voice of reason. But it wasn't time for that yet. Now he should lay the trap. “Dubious publications have blabbed about the monarchy since the time of coffee houses, and as for the mobs, whenever have we listened to their opinions?”

“So you'd risk them viewing my engagement as a fait accompli?”

Uther almost burst a vessel when Arthur mentioned the word engagement (had he, God forbid, already proposed?), but he kept a steely countenance. He merely cleared his throat, poured himself a glass of water, and steadied himself for a few beats. He hadn't choked. By no means. “No newspaper will ever force my hand.”

This time Arthur smiled, widely and honestly. “And you'll talk to him? You'll actually sit down and listen to what he has to say for himself?” Arthur's countenance filled with hope. “If you do, you'll see Merlin is a thoroughly good man. If you only got to know him--”

Tamping down on a facial tick, Uther held his palm up. “I didn't say I'd entertain the fellow.” Ten minutes in the company of that Bolshevik would give Uther Pendragon the hives. Don't think of that. Do not ever think of that. With the right amount of detachment and condescension to sound creditable, Uther slammed the door on thoughts of tete à tete with that Anglesey oaf and added, “I merely hinted that he could be of our number for the next pheasant shoot.”

At that answer, Arthur goggled, awash in the throes of young love. “Really? Well, Merlin will love the woods around the estate.”

Hopefully, he would love their fauna so much – or so little – he would be the cause of his own undoing. “I'm sure such a...” Surely, there was a word that would describe the damnable yokel that wouldn't advertise Uther's true feelings about him. “...son of the soil will enjoy the outing.”

Arthur beamed; he was clearly ecstatic. Yet, he checked his grin as well as the shine in his eyes so he could sound appropriately level when he said, “I'm sure he will.”

Uther had never wished Arthur didn't look so much like Ygraine as he did now. Seeing that look of joy on his son's face warmed him. Even though it shouldn't, given that their aims were opposite, he was touched. Besides, Arthur's likeness to his mother made Uther experience all the bittersweetness of his loss. “Yes, well...”

Picking up his gizmo of a phone, Arthur toyed with it until a beep announced he'd just sent a text message. 

On the heels of that, his phone rang. Arthur was quick to accept the call, pressing the apparatus to his ear as his lips expanded to a broad and happy smile. “I have something to tell you,” Arthur said, as he stood, turned around and lowered his voice. “An invitation to make, or rather to extend.”

Although he would have needed no factual back up to guess who it was, Uther could hear the masculine tones of Merlin Emrys coming from the bowels of Arthur's mobile. 

“Fancy spending some time in Sandringham in late October?” Arthur was bouncing off his toes, pacing with nervous energy as he awaited his answer.

Merlin returned one. It was a short one, probably couched as a question.

“Erm, a shooting party, but you needn't take part,” Arthur was quick to say, frowning as he spoke. Whatever he'd meant to say next, he didn't, for he covered his phone and muttered to Uther, “I'm taking this outside, Father.”

Uther nodded and Arthur left and closed the door behind him. But he didn't rove away. The creak of the door revealed he had leant against it and his voice, though muffled by the partition, still made it into the morning room, where Uther was.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I promise I can make it fun. You don't have to hang with any aristocratic old stooges, I swear.” He paused, his voice hovering on the edge of uncertainty. “And it would mean a lot to me if you got along with my father.”

What Merlin answered, Uther would have no means to know. He hadn't had Arthur's phone tapped as yet. It sounded so very Unenglish and he would only stoop to that if Arthur ever got it into his head to elope. Apparently for now his son'd rather do things by the book, as this proved. 

Arthur continued, “It might change things. It'd be a step in the right direction, to make it off--”

Arthur sounded so hopeful and earnest, Uther was almost moved to give up his plan. But though this would hurt Arthur in the short run, Uther had to stay firm. If Arthur married the right person, as Uther had, his burdens as king would be alleviated. He would find no obstacles in the upper echelons of society, no opposition. That would allow the monarchy to endure. And since Arthur wanted to do his best as king, this would benefit him too. It would allow him to stick to his conscience while smoothing out his path. Because he was young, he might have qualms now, but in future he would come to see it as Uther did. He'd rue any hurried choice made during his youth, any impediment that would affect his tenure as monarch. Arthur had a sense of duty so great he'd blame himself if he didn't meet all expectations, if he didn't reach his own personal goals; in the end he would never be truly happy with an Emrys by his side. Uther knew it because he had nurtured Arthur's moral compass himself. He would make a better King than even Uther himself.

As he left the vicinity of the door, the creaking of the corridor's flooring giving away his movements, Arthur's voice dwindled.

It didn't matter. Uther's plan had been set in motion. He needn't care about the particulars. He'd have what he wanted and everybody bar Emrys would eventually be happy with the results. Emrys was but a small casualty when compared with the welfare of the kingdom. Besides, he was as young as Arthur; he'd find someone else to spend his life with, someone more suitable, some marching environmentalist protester with a penchant for Lenin and wildlife. That would do. 

Uther was doing the right thing. Of that there could be no doubt.

As he fortified himself in his resolution, Uther looked at the portrait of Ygraine that hung right above his desk, so that his every decision would be guided by her loving spirit. “I'm only safeguarding, Arthur. That's all I'm doing.”

Though it was only ten in the morning, Uther gave up on water and served himself a brisk, restorative Highland whisky.


End file.
